


Hodnes Nou Laik Kwelnes

by mymo



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, F/F, Grounder Clarke Griffin, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-04-24 21:53:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14364486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymo/pseuds/mymo
Summary: Clarke's family has a secret, but how long will it remain hidden after she befriends Lexa?





	1. Chapter One

She is not supposed to be this deep into the forest, her mother has scolded her for it more times than she can count. However, she cannot bring herself to listen to the woman and stay away. Even at only six years old, Clarke is fiercely independent, and she wants to do so much more than hide in the shadows of the trees spying on the training Natblidas. She wants to join them; she wants to train for the Conclave with them. Being so young, Clarke does not yet understand that being born with black blood is a curse, not a blessing. She just sees the other children, most of them a few years older than herself, all sparring and laughing at one another when they miss a hit or are knocked to the ground by a weaker opponent. She longs both for the bond of friendship and for the training.

 

It has become a daily ritual for the young blonde to flee from her family’s hut in the early hours of the morning and sneak into the trees to watch the Natblidas. It has become increasingly difficult to do so with the addition of a newborn baby brother who wakes at ungodly hours crying, but Clarke manages. The Natblidas are in the same spot every morning like clockwork, and they train for hours, only breaking to eat and go to the bathroom. Breaks are when Clarke has to be extra cautious, though, because the Natblidas could easily spot her without the distraction of an opponent.

 

Currently, the child is squatting behind a rather large tree trunk, the bare soles of her feet nearly black with dirt and her light hair wild, untamed, and in desperate need of a washing. A single blue eye is peering past her hiding place, watching intently as two of the girls swing their wooden sparring sticks at one another. It seems to be a fair match until the smaller of the two girls is struck across the face with the end of her opponent’s weapon. Even from this distance, Clarke is able to see the deep black blood that is dripping from the green-eyed girl’s bottom lip. She doesn’t cry, though, moodily wiping the blood aside with the back of her hand and throwing her stick to the ground in frustration as the Fleimkepa announces a break.

 

Breath hitching in her throat, Clarke quickly conceals her small body behind the trunk of the tree, her back pressed flat against the rough bark, pine pitch sticking in her already unruly hair. She can hear footsteps approaching, the unmistakable sound of boots crunching against the fallen leaves, accompanied by breathless pants. Clarke has to hold her own breath, needing to remain as silent as possible. The Natblidas’ training is meant to be private, and she could get into a great deal of trouble with the Commander if she was caught spying.

 

“You need a new hiding spot,” a voice speaks from beside her. A soft gasp escapes from the young blonde’s lips as blue eyes dart up to meet green, the Natblida spitting black blood from her injury into the dirt, her hip resting against the very same tree trunk that Clarke hides behind. “It is less conspicuous if you choose a different one every day. You are always behind this tree,” the girl states, folding her hands in front of her.

 

“/Please/ don’t tell anyone,” Clarke begs of the girl in a whisper, fearing that she will be heard or spotted by someone else. “I don’t want to get in any trouble. I just like to watch you all training… you’re all so good at fighting. I thought that I could learn how to fight if I watched you enough.”

 

“You are not from Polis,” the Natblida observes. She has purposely avoided the blonde’s concerns because she has no intentions of turning her in. She has spotted Clarke watching them on several occasions and admittedly likes having an audience. She knows that she is an impressive fighter for a girl of only eight, and she enjoys showing off her skills. “You do not even have shoes on,” she continues, the detail a dead giveaway that the blonde is not wealthy enough to reside in the capital. “Where do you come from?”

 

“A village just outside of the woods. East of here,” Clarke answers nervously, swallowing the lump that has formed in her throat as she sheepishly tucks her dirty feet beneath herself. “I’ll go back there, and I won’t ever come back if you don’t tell on me. I promise.”

 

“You can stay here until we are finished for the day, if you would like. I will not tell anyone,” the Natblida promises, smirking down at Clarke. “I am Lexa kom Trikru. You are…?”

 

“Cl-Clarke,” the young blonde answers, taken aback by Lexa’s willingness to keep her presence a secret. She had been certain that she would be returning home to her parents in a crate, her head no longer attached to her body. “Are you sure that I can stay?”

 

“As long as you are quiet… and if you learn how to keep yourself hidden better. Your hair is very light, so is your skin. It stands out in the woods,” Lexa informs the girl, glancing over her shoulder when she hears Titus calling the Natblidas back. Break is over. “I have to go. I suspect that I will see you here again tomorrow, Clarke kom Trikru,” she says before joining the other novitiates in her class. Clarke is left squatting alone behind the pine tree that she will never return to again, her jaw hanging open and her heart beating so rapidly in her chest that she fears it will burst out of her. 

\-------------------------

It is early afternoon when Clarke runs through the front door of her family’s home, her lips curled into a smug smile after a day spent watching the Natblidas. Her father is not home, perhaps out hunting in the surrounding woods for their dinner, but her mother is pacing the length of their small hut, cradling her infant son in her arms. At the sight of her filthy eldest child bursting into the room and panting to catch her breath, Abby’s concerned features twist into a scowl. She should have known that Clarke was off in the woods by herself again. Her daughter is not one to follow anybody’s rules except her own. 

 

“What have I told you about sneaking off like that?” the woman questions her daughter rhetorically, her tone cold, and her voice low and threatening, though that is mostly for the sake of her sleeping son. “If you want to go out there, you need to wait and go with your father. He can teach you how to hunt, how to use a bow. You can’t protect yourself out there, Clarke. What if there were Azgeda soldiers in the trees?”

 

“I didn’t go far,” Clarke lies, though her tone is defensive. She avoids eye contact with her mother as she sits down on the edge of her bed, which is in the corner of their tiny one-room hut. “Besides, I don’t go out there because I want to learn how to hunt.”

 

Abby releases a heavy exhale at her daughter’s words. Clarke is much too young to be so independent and much too small to be able to defend herself alone in the wilderness. The girl has been a handful ever since she was born. At age four, she stole her father’s dagger from the table and chased a hungry boar away from their garden with it. Abby must conceal a smirk at the memory as she seats herself beside the young blonde, her son cooing in his sleep. “Why do you go out there, then?” she wonders, genuinely interested in Clarke’s reasoning. 

 

“I want to learn how to fight,” Clarke answers honestly. “I want to become a warrior, not a hunter.”

 

“How do you think sneaking off alone into the woods is going to help you with that endeavor?” Abby challenges her daughter with an almost amused chuckle.

 

“I watch them, Mom. The Natblidas,” Clarke admits, too enthralled by the current topic of conversation to notice the immediate shift in her mother’s demeanor. She is eager to explain her dreams to her mother now that the nature of her walks deep into the forest has been revealed. “I want to learn how to fight like they do. I think that I could even be as good as they are if I practiced enough. I could compete in the Conclave!” Clarke finishes excitedly, the mere thought of it causing her lips to stretch into a grin.

 

“You need to stop that right now, Clarke,” Abby warns her daughter, all traces of playfulness having dissipated. Her daughter does not understand what the Conclave truly is, nor does she realize that those children she idolizes and watches each day are marked for death, being trained to slaughter one another when the Commander dies. Abby doesn’t feel the need to sugarcoat things for Clarke, though.

 

“You have red blood, and you are lucky that you do. The color of your blood gives you a chance to have a life… a real life. You can learn to become a warrior, but you shouldn’t envy the Natblidas. They should envy you. They have been ripped from their families, forced to reside in the capital and train every day. Their lives have not belonged to them since the moment the scouts witnessed the color of their blood. At the Conclave, those kids will fight one another to the death. They’ll have to slaughter the people they were raised beside until only one remains. And that one Natblida will be the least lucky of them all. To be the Commander is a heavy burden, Clarke. Your life would belong to your people instead of yourself, and you would be haunted for the rest of your life by what you had done to gain your position as Heda. I would never want that for you,” Abby tells Clarke before her eyes falter to the sleeping face of her baby boy. “Or for Aden…”


	2. Chapter Two

After a day of strenuous training and putting in extra effort to show off for the filthy blonde girl hiding behind the pine tree, Lexa is exhausted. Her muscles ache, her body is covered in bruises and cuts, and her clothing is drenched with sweat. All that the young girl wants to do is return to her chambers in the lower levels of the Polis tower and bathe before crawling into bed and repeating the cycle the following morning. Her plans are foiled when she feels a familiar hand grip her shoulder on the walk back to the capital. Titus.

 

“I would like to speak with you privately, Lexa. Walk with me,” the Fleimkepa requests, only releasing the girl once she accepts his request and allows her footsteps to fall into sync with his. The other Natblidas have since run off ahead of them, allowing them Titus’s requested privacy. “You are not as focused as you normally would be. Something has been distracting you, Lexa. Luna could never take you down if you were fighting with your full potential.”

 

“She has gotten better. And she is older than I am, bigger, too,” Lexa responds, her shoulders lifting in a weak shrug. She is certain that she has not been distracted by anything and is admittedly the slightest bit hurt by Titus’s accusations. The man is the closest thing to a father she has ever known, and Lexa had honestly been proud of how hard she worked today. She had been hoping he would be proud of her, too, but he has always been tougher on her than any of the other novitiates in her class. She is used to it.

 

“Yes, but you are stronger than she is. You are stronger than all of them. I expect more of you,” Titus says, his hands folded behind his back as he moves forward. “Is it the handmaidens that are distracting you? When they bring lunch to the training ground?” Titus wonders. “I have noticed that you befriended the youngest one. Costia is her name?”

 

“Yes, but she has not been distracting me. It is just… nice being able to talk to someone aside from the other Natblidas. It is different,” Lexa explains, her tone the slightest bit defensive. She nearly trips over a raised tree root because she is suddenly so flustered, only further validating Titus’s argument. “I have never had a real friend, Titus. I just talk with Costia when we break for lunch. It is harmless.”

 

“It is dangerous,” Titus argues, his voice harsh and curt. He shamelessly favors Lexa above the others in her class and has spent countless hours lecturing her about the harsh realities of being the Commander. She may be the youngest of the Natblidas, but she is also the strongest and the most promising. Titus has no doubts that the Commander’s spirit will choose her at the Conclave. “When you are Heda, you will not have time for friendships. You will not have the luxury of personal relationships. Your life will belong to your people. That is your fate, Lexa.”

 

“What if Heda’s spirit does not choose me?” Lexa challenges. “Then I will have wasted my life pushing others away instead of enjoying the time that I have.”

 

“Heda’s spirit will choose you, Lexa,” Titus states, his tone laced with both confidence and pride. “But love is weakness, you must remember that. To be Commander is to be alone.”

\--------------------------

The following day, Lexa puts forth all of her effort while training. She does not even glance in the direction of the pine tree where Clarke usually hides, though if the blonde is smart, she has found a different place to spy on the training sessions.

 

Lexa beats every Natblida that is matched against her, the young girl drenched with sweat and practically gasping for breath by the time that the handmaidens arrive with lunch for them. The young brunette eagerly accepts the cup of water that is handed to her by Costia, downing the entire drink in one long sip. It is not enough to quench her thirst, though, which causes Costia to fill the cup a second time with the pitcher she carries. 

 

“Training hard today?” Costia wonders as she turns away from Lexa to gather a portion of food for the girl from the rickety wooden cart she has pulled to the training ground. Today, the Natblidas will eat fish caught from the lake just several hundred yards from where they train each day. Costia purposely places the largest fish in her cart on a plate for Lexa. “Eat. You need to keep up your strength.”

 

“Thank you,” Lexa breathes out as she accepts the plate from her friend and sits down in the shade provided by a nearby pine tree. “Sit with me,” she invites, able to feel Titus’s judging gaze watching her interaction with the young handmaiden, but she decides that she doesn’t care. He cannot isolate her forever.

 

Costia does not hesitate to accept the request, the girl quite tired herself after pulling a cart full of food uphill this far. She sits beneath the shade of the very same pine tree, tucking a loose strand of tightly curled black hair behind her ear. The remainder of her hair is tied in a bun at the top of her head, several braids woven into it. 

 

“How did you become a handmaiden?” Lexa wonders casually as she tears a rather large chunk of meat off of her portion of fish, beginning to pluck the fine bones from it. “I just mean that you are quite young. The rest of them are older. Adults,” the Natblida clarifies, green eyes following the taller figures of the other handmaidens as they deliver lunch to her peers. “You are my age, no?”

 

“Give or take a few years,” Costia answers vaguely, her attention focused on the cup in her hand as she pours some water for herself. The story of how she had come to work in Polis for the Commander and the Natblidas is painful, and she is not quite sure if she is ready to share something so intimate and personal with Lexa, who she has only known for a few weeks. However, Costia is lonely. The only time that she gets to spend with children her own age is the Natblidas’ daily lunch breaks, and Lexa seems lonely, too.

 

“I am an orphan. I was taken from my village several weeks ago because the Mountain took my mother and father,” Costia admits, her voice low and distant. She is not even looking at Lexa as she speaks, black eyes staring at the ground. “There was no one left to take care of me. I was of no worth, I had nothing to offer the people of my village. Scouts from Polis took me from my home and put me to work here,” the girl explains, her features etched with pain as she recalls the road that led her to where she currently is. “I have shelter in the capital, food, clothing. It isn’t much, but it is more than I had back home. It is just difficult not knowing what has happened to my parents. All I know is that I will never see them again.”

 

“At least you can remember your parents,” Lexa states quietly, her voice equally as distant. It is probably selfish of her to assume that she has had it worse than Costia, but all she has ever known is training to become a warrior so that she can fight to the death one day. “The scouts took me from my parents when I was two. I was brought here, was given a sword, forced to learn the language of our enemies, and live amongst strangers. Anya has always looked after me, though. She is sort of like a mother to me, but I would not know my real mother even if I saw her.”

 

“I suppose that would make us both orphans, then. And an unbreakable bond was formed,” Costia concludes, lifting her cup of water in the air in a toast. A weak smile curves the edges of her lips when Lexa clinks her own cup against it, causing water to slosh over the sides.


	3. Chapter Three

In two years, not much has changed. Clarke continues to watch the Natblidas train, though she comes less often and has grown much stealthier and more skilled at hiding herself. Each time that she comes, she observes the fighting and has even picked up on some of the techniques used by the warriors in training. More than anything recently, though, Clarke has been watching Lexa and her pretty handmaiden friend when they break for lunch. Clarke is lonely, longing for friendship more than anything else.

 

The two girls always eat lunch together under the very same pine tree where Clarke met Lexa for the first time. The Natblida and the handmaiden laugh and joke together as they eat, something that causes the young blonde to feel even more alienated. She and Lexa have not even spoken in weeks, something that Clarke tells herself is being done for her own good, but she has her suspicions that the Natblida is simply not interested in her company beyond spectating while Lexa trains.

 

It is early in the morning when Clarke makes her attempt to sneak out, her parents and her younger brother all sleeping soundly. She makes the mistake of crouching down in front of each of them to make certain that they are asleep and lingers too long before Aden. The sensation of being watched pulls the young boy from his slumber with a start, his blue eyes wide and chest heaving as he attempts to make sense of his surroundings.

 

“Where you going?” Aden questions groggily as he sits up on the messy pile of furs that serves as his bed, tiny fists rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 

Clarke cannot tell her young brother the truth because he will either rat her out to their parents, or he will request to come with her. “I’m just going down to the lake to get us some water for the day,” she lies, believing the task to be an incredibly boring one that will not raise any suspicions from the boy. “I’ll be back in a little while. Just go back to sleep, Aden.”

 

“I can come?” he wonders excitedly, all traces of sleepiness in his voice dissipating as he eagerly begins to stand. At just two years old, he is almost as adventurous as his older sister is. She should have expected that he would want to tag along, regardless of how mundane her fictional endeavor is. Apparently Clarke will not be spying on the Natblidas today.

 

“Yeah. Get your coat on,” Clarke relents with a disappointed sigh. Blue eyes roll dramatically as she rises to her full height again and pulls on her own coat, which is roughly made because her mother had stitched it herself. Regardless of its unappealing appearance, the fur inside of the coat keeps her warm.

 

Once he is ready to leave, Aden eagerly grabs his older sister’s hand and waddles out of their hut, tugging her along and reminding her to bring the buckets as they pass by them. The lake is nothing more than a ten minute walk from their home, which is convenient because most villages do not have a fresh water source so close by. They are fortunate.

 

“Stay away from the edge of the water,” Clarke warns Aden once she releases the grip she has maintained on his hand in order to fill both of their buckets with water.

 

“I carry one home?” Aden requests hopefully, ignoring his older sister’s warning to steer clear of the lake’s edge. There are rocks large enough for the young boy to climb on at the edge of the water, and he has already begun to scale the side of a rather jagged and slick boulder.

 

“You aren’t strong enough to carry one by yourself,” Clarke answers with an annoyed huff, setting the first filled bucket down beside her feet and glancing over her shoulder at her younger brother. She is not surprised to see him disregarding her rules, and she will not waste her breath warning him to stay away from the water a second time. “If you fall, I’m not responsible,” she reminds him.

 

Aden does little other than poke his tongue out at his sister and continue his climb to the top of the large boulder, shaking shaggy blonde locks from his eyes as he nears his destination. However, the surface at the top of the rock is much slicker than he had anticipated, and his bare foot slips on it, causing him to lose his grip on the boulder and skin his knee on the jagged surface of it.

 

“What did I /just/ tell you?” Clarke questions rhetorically, before she moodily drops the second bucket onto the pebbles beneath her feet, causing the contents of it to spill. Although she is annoyed with her younger brother because of his behavior, he is currently her responsibility and he is injured, bawling as his tiny hands clutch at his knee.

 

“Let me see it,” Clarke requests as she crouches down beside Aden and begins to roll up the leg of his pants. Her mother is a healer in their village, and the young blonde has spent numerous hours observing the older woman’s work. She has never actually dealt with a patient at just eight years of age, but she understands the basics of what to do to stop bleeding. However, Clarke freezes when the fabric of Aden’s pants is rolled up just high enough to reveal his injury. Rolling down his pale skin is a thin trail of deep black blood.

 

It is only now that Clarke realizes she has never seen her brother bleed before, and all that she can think about currently is her mother’s warning to her when she expressed her desire to train with the Natblidas. That could now easily become Aden’s fate. But he is so young and fragile… he would never stand a chance against the older children who have been training to kill for years.

 

“We have to go home,” Clarke states, her voice urgent and panicked as she hurriedly tugs the material of Aden’s pant leg down again to conceal his injury. Blue eyes scan her surroundings to ensure that no one else had seen before she lifts her still crying brother into her arms and begins to flee back to their hut, leaving the buckets of water behind.

 

The mere sound of Clarke’s breathless pants as she stumbles into the opening of her family’s hut is enough to wake her mother and father. She is a relatively small girl for her age, and the physical strain of running home with the weight of her brother in her arms had been near debilitating. She is thankful that her exhausted and confused mother takes the crying boy from her arms so that Clarke can collapse to her knees on the dirt floor, gasping for air. 

 

“What on earth is going on?” Abby demands to know as she rocks her son from side to side in her arms, shushing him softly. Clarke’s father has since crouched down beside the young girl, his hand rubbing soothing circles against her back in an attempt to calm her down.

 

“Went… to get water,” Clarke manages to choke out, closing her eyes for a brief moment as she regains her composure, tear glazed blue eyes opening to look up at her concerned mother. “Aden was playing on the rocks. He fell and hurt his knee,” the child explains, feeling rather confused by the relief that immediately etches into her mother’s features. The older woman clearly does not understand the severity of her daughter’s discovery.

 

“His knee, look at it,” Clarke instructs Abby, her voice both demanding and desperate. Her heart is racing in her chest as if she fears that this is somehow her fault because of all the time she has spent admiring the training children with black blood. “The blood… He’s a Natblida.”


	4. Chapter Four

Lexa misses Clarke. Costia has been sick for several days and therefore has been absent at lunch, leaving the young Natblida to eat alone beneath the shade of her favorite pine tree. She had been hoping that Clarke would show up to fill the void that Costia’s absence leaves, but the blonde has not shown herself in upwards of a week. Lexa finds herself worrying about Clarke’s well-being, and then feeling guilty for only craving the blonde’s company when her first choice is not available. It is not Lexa’s fault that she cannot freely interact with Clarke, though. If anyone knew that the young blonde frequently spies on the Natblidas, she would likely be killed.

 

Lexa’s entire week is lonely. Even the other Natblidas actively avoid training opposite of her because she has gotten so good at fighting over the course of the past couple of years that no opponent stands a chance against her. This leaves Lexa spending her days training opposite of Titus. It would be a privilege to learn directly from a fighter as skilled as the Fleimkepa if he was not so hard on Lexa. Each wrong move she makes during their sessions earns her a stern scolding from the man. He has only grown increasingly strict with the young girl since her friendship with Costia began to blossom. Titus suspects that there is romantic interest between the two children, but Lexa insists that it is nothing more than friendship, even if she does find the handmaiden extraordinarily pretty. The deep black of Costia’s eyes is only her favorite color by coincidence.

 

“You must block much quicker than that if you want to win the Conclave,” Titus warns Lexa as his sparring stick hits the girl’s rib cage rather forcefully. It momentarily knocks the wind out of the Natblida, but after clutching at her sore side for a moment, Lexa stands up straight once again and swings her pole at Titus. He easily blocks it despite the amount of force behind the swing.

 

“This is not fair!” Lexa exclaims breathlessly as she barely dodges a hit from the man, backing up a step. “You have been training much longer than I have,” she argues, grunting in pain as Titus’s pole hits her knuckles, causing her to lose her grip on her own weapon and fall on her rear end in the dirt.

 

“If this were a real fight, you would be dead now,” Titus informs the girl, completely disregarding her claims that the fight is not a fair one. He indicates how easily he could decapitate her with his sword if the fight were real before offering her a hand to help her up.

 

“If this were a real fight, I would be matched up against one of these mediocre warriors, not a man twice my size and strength,” Lexa argues as she accepts her teacher’s hand and allows him to pull her up to her feet again. “I will do just fine in the Conclave. You said so yourself.”

 

“I cannot deny that you are the strongest and most capable fighter here aside from myself,” Titus agrees, a hint of pride laced in his otherwise strict tone. “But that does not mean you can opt out of training until the Commander’s spirit is ready to choose a new host. By that time, these ‘mediocre warriors’ will be just as skilled as you are now, maybe even more so. There is still much room for improvement.”

 

Lexa does not see the point in arguing, so she simply agrees with a nod of her head and goes right back to getting her ass kicked by the Fleimkepa. She tells herself that it will only help her in the long run, but it is discouraging to be thrown to the ground every time she swings her weapon. It takes the entire day before she gets a single hit in, and it is only a weak one against Titus’s shoulder. It pleases him, though, and apparently it is enough to cause him to end the training session early. Lexa is thankful because her entire body is sore and covered in bruises. She is in desperate need of a bath.

 

The green-eyed Natblida has left her boots and jacket at the base of the pine tree she eats lunch beneath every day. She is gathering her few belongings when she notices a shadow behind the trunk of the tree, familiar bare toes poking out from behind the bark.

 

“What have I told you about spying on us from behind this tree, Clarke?” Lexa questions rhetorically, releasing a dramatic sigh. She cannot prevent the way in which her lips curl into a soft smile, though. She has missed Clarke and is relieved to know that the girl is okay and still watching from time to time. “Did you watch me fight Titus today?”

 

“Is /that/ what you call it?” Clarke wonders with a giggle. “It looked more like he was knocking you off your feet in between lectures all day.”

 

“That is probably a more accurate description,” Lexa admits, crouching down to lace her boots. Normally, she would have already completed the task by now, but she is taking her time because a conversation with Clarke is a rarity and she has found that the blonde’s company is quite enjoyable. Clarke is even funny at times. “You know how he gets.”

 

“I don’t like him,” the blonde says bluntly. Though she has never spoken to the man, nor does he know of her existence, Clarke has heard plenty of unpleasant stories from Lexa and has seen the Fleimkepa relentlessly push the girl far past her limit. “He’s harder on you than the others. It isn’t fair.”

 

“He’s harder on me because he cares,” Lexa responds, not exactly defending her mentor, but rather she is trying to understand where he is coming from. She knows that his intentions are good, but they leave her isolated and miserable. “He believes that Heda’s spirit will choose me at the Conclave. He favors me because I am the most promising of the novitiates,” she states proudly.

 

“Anyone with eyes can see that,” Clarke says, admiration in her voice. Lexa is the warrior that she aspires to be one day, and she looks up to the girl. “You’ll win. I know you will,” she whispers, suddenly feeling a slight twinge of guilt about her younger brother. Since discovering his status as a Natblida, Clarke’s parents have made her promise to keep it a secret. She feels as though Lexa should know, but she cannot bring herself to inform the girl in fear of betraying her family.

 

“If it takes me any longer to lace my boots, they will get suspicious,” Lexa states apologetically. She is not ready to abandon her friend just yet, but talking any longer puts Clarke in danger of being discovered. “I have to go wash up, anyway. I stink,” she adds on lightly.

 

“Yeah, you do,” Clarke agrees with a chuckle, though she cannot smell anything. Even if she could, she would endure it endlessly if it meant having a full face-to-face conversation with Lexa just once. “I’ll try to come tomorrow.”

 

If Lexa was going to respond, she is prevented from doing so by the sudden presence of a large hand on her shoulder. Her entire body freezes in response, tensing beneath Titus’s touch. A sort of pathetic whimper escapes from her lips as she prays against everything that the Fleimkepa hasn’t heard Clarke. 

 

“Who are you talking to, Lexa?” Titus wonders, his voice curt and low, crumbling her prayers. Lexa knows that dangerous tone all too well. Titus has suspected something bizarre has been going on during the training sessions, but this is the first time he has caught Lexa in the act of engaging with someone who doesn’t belong.

 

“No one,” Lexa lies, her mouth dry and her bottom lip trembling. There is nothing that she can do to protect Clarke now, though. 

 

“Why don’t you tell your friend to come out?” Titus wonders, able to see the shadow of the small girl who believes herself to be concealed behind the pine tree. Clarke does not need to be asked, though, the filthy child slowly stepping out into view. She is covered from head to toe in dirt, her hair wild and full of tangles. 

 

“Please don’t hurt me,” Clarke begs in a whisper, though she knows that Titus likely does not have a choice. The rules are the rules. 

 

“Do you know what the punishment is for spying on a private Natblida training session?” Titus wonders, having finally released his grip on Lexa’s shoulder, allowing the girl to stand up.

 

“Death?” Clarke answers, swallowing the lump that has formed in her throat.

 

“Death,” Titus confirms quietly.


	5. Chapter Five

|| I just wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who has read this story so far and left positive feedback. It truly means a lot. Thank you to those of you who are patient enough for a slow burn fanfic. I promise that your patience will pay off. ;)

 

“Titus, please!” Lexa begs her teacher desperately. She has been trailing at the man’s heels all the way through the forest as he trudged back in the direction of the capital, dragging Clarke along by the collar of her shirt. The blonde is too petrified to speak a word in her own defense, whimpering as an endless stream of tears flows down her cheeks.

 

“Lexa, you know that I cannot make any exceptions when it comes to this, not even for you,” Titus informs the young Natblida, though there is no regret in his voice. Training for the Conclave is a private and sacred matter, and the Flamekeeper cannot tolerate anyone making a mockery of his faith. Clarke has crossed a line and will have to pay the price for her crime.

 

“Titus, if you turn her in, I will get into trouble, too,” Lexa points out, though her argument does not stand if Titus fails to mention to the Commander that Lexa has befriended the young spy. “They cannot kill me because I am a Natblida, but they can punish me. They could take my hands… I will not win the Conclave like that.”

 

“They will never know that you had anything to do with this girl,” Titus states curtly, pulling rather forcefully on Clarke’s collar when the young girl stumbles over her own feet. Tear glazed blue eyes are staring desperately at Lexa, and the young Natblida cannot allow her to be killed.

 

“I will tell the Commander myself if you fail to do so, Titus. Clarke has been watching us for years, and I have allowed her to,” Lexa informs Titus matter-of-factly. “If she is guilty, than so am I. I am begging you not to do this.”

 

At this, the Flamekeeper comes to a sudden halt, causing the young girl in his grip to flinch in fear. Lexa is right. If the Commander knows that she is associated with a spy in any way, shape, or form, she will be severely punished, and that punishment will seal her fate in the Conclave. Titus cannot allow Lexa to die when it is so blatant that she is destined to be the next Commander. He will have to spare Clarke’s life in order to spare Lexa’s.

 

“Very well,” Titus says, rather forcefully releasing his hold on Clarke and shoving her aside. “I will not have this girl killed, but I /will/ have her family taken into Polis. They will all work for the Commander. That is the fairest solution I can offer.”

 

“B-but, my mother is a Healer in my village. Without her, my people won’t-” Clarke begins, but her words are cut short by Titus.

 

“Then your mother will be a Healer in the capital. Perhaps you should have thought about the fate of your people before you decided to spy on the Natblidas,” Titus states sternly. “I will send you back to your village with Riders, but only to gather your family and bring them back here. The Commander will never know of your crimes, but you will work as a servant in Polis, a handmaiden,” Titus informs Clarke, showing the girl no sympathy. If it weren’t for Lexa, he would have taken the blonde’s head himself. “Let’s go.”

 

Titus takes the lead as they start towards Polis once again, the two children following a few paces behind him. Lexa casts an apologetic look at Clarke before slipping her hand into the blonde’s and squeezing it reassuringly. 

 

“The capital is not so bad,” the Natblida assures her friend in a lame attempt at comforting her. However, the blonde hardly nods in response, appearing traumatized by what she has done. “There is plenty of food and water for everyone. You will never go hungry. And you will not have to live in a hut anymore,” Lexa adds on, almost lightheartedly. “If I pull a few strings, I may even be able to convince Titus to allow your family to live in the main tower.”

 

“Don’t,” Clarke requests in a whisper, squeezing Lexa’s hand in return as blue eyes stare blankly ahead at Titus’s back. “You’ve done enough for me already. I’d be getting executed in a few hours if it wasn’t for you,” the blonde acknowledges, feeling rather sick to her stomach. She had known all of these years that she was putting her life on the line when she spied on the Natblidas, but now that she has actually been caught, it seems surreal.

 

“I am sorry that I couldn’t prevent this from happening, Clarke,” Lexa replies in a whisper. Although she has saved her friend’s life, she still feels as though she has failed to protect Clarke. The younger girl looks up to and admires her, and she had failed to keep her safe. “But, we will be able to communicate more freely now,” the young brunette brings to Clarke’s attention. “You will not have to hide in the trees any longer. If you are to become a handmaiden, I will see you every day at lunch. You will probably bring me breakfast in the mornings, too.”

 

“No offense, Lexa, but I don’t want to be your servant,” Clarke states gloomily, her heart sinking in her chest at the realization that that is likely all she will ever be now that she has been caught spying. “I want to be your friend…”

 

“You /are/ my friend, Clarke,” Lexa assures her opposite. “I would not have just saved your life if you weren’t,” she points out, a subtle smirk tugging at her lips in response to her weak attempt at humor.

 

Whatever little amount of comfort Lexa had provided Clarke with is completely forgotten about as soon as they emerge from the tree line. Polis is larger and more intimidating than the young blonde had imagined. The streets are noisy and crowded with more people than Clarke has ever seen. There are threatening looking guards standing post at nearly every entrance at every building. Clarke’s family will struggle to fit in here. That is not the scariest part, though. The scariest part is the men on horses that Titus is currently speaking with, wearing armor made of human remains and wielding dangerous looking weapons. These are the men who will force her family out of their home because of her reckless behavior.

 

“I will see you later, Clarke. You are welcome to visit my chambers at any time. I will make sure that the guards who stand post outside of my doors are informed of that,” Lexa promises, reluctantly releasing Clarke’s hand. “You should go. The Riders are waiting for you. As long as you and your family cooperate, they will not harm any of you. Just remember that this could have been much worse.”

 

“I’m sorry that I didn’t listen to you,” Clarke apologizes, blue eyes faltering to the earth as she kicks up a small cloud of dust with her bare foot. “I shouldn’t have hidden behind that stupid pine tree again. Now we’re both in trouble.”

 

“I can handle Titus. You have nothing to apologize for. He will yell at me for a few minutes, but that is all. It is worth it to ensure that you are safe, Clarke,” Lexa assures her friend. “Now, go… before they think you are refusing.”

 

“I’ll see you later,” Clarke promises before she turns on her heels and trudges toward the waiting Riders. She is scared and disappointed in herself, but mostly she is thinking about Aden. How will her family manage to keep his blood status a secret directly under the Flamekeeper’s nose in Polis?


	6. Chapter Six

The adjustment from living in an impoverished village to the grandeur of the capital is one that takes a long while for Clarke and her family. It is perhaps easiest on Aden, who is so young and naive that he does not grasp the gravity of the situation. As he ages, however, he begins to understand why his parents isolate him and why he is to never communicate with the Natblidas his older sister now serves.

For a couple of years, there is a great deal of tension between Clarke and her parents, particularly her mother. Whereas Jake has a soft spot for his daughter, Abby’s soft spot is for her youngest child. Clarke’s reckless behavior is what led them here, and it is because of her that Aden must tread cautiously at all times.

 

Aside from the guilt she carries and the strained relationship with her mother, Clarke does well for herself in Polis. She works for the Commander himself, receiving food, water, and clothing for her family from him in return for her services. She finds that she doesn't mind being a handmaiden. At first, it feels a bit degrading to be serving meals to people that should be her peers, washing their chamber pots, fixing their clothing, and a plethora of other less than exciting tasks. However, Lexa keeps her grounded. The Natblida never allows her fellow novitiates to treat Clarke as anything other than an equal. In her spare time, she even privately spars with Clarke in her chambers, though that is a secret that not even Costia knows about. 

 

Lexa and Costia have taken their friendship to the next level. Both of the young women are in their mid-teens now, and have since recognized that their bond is romantic. With Titus’s eyes on Lexa 24/7, she doesn’t get much alone time with her girlfriend. They have done nothing more than share innocent pecks on the lips, but if the Fleimkepa found out, he would undoubtedly find a reason to either imprison Costia, or exile her from the capital. It is a risk that Lexa is not willing to take, so she keeps her relationship with the girl just as low key as her sparring sessions with Clarke. 

 

“You need to pay more attention to your footing,” Lexa advises Clarke, having knocked her opponent to the floor for what feels like the hundredth time since they starting sparring just a little over an hour ago. “Your sword work is good, but you do not pay enough attention to where you are stepping. That is why I keep winning.”

 

“Maybe if you let us train with /real/ swords instead of these stupid sticks, I could show you how good I really am,” Clarke shoots back, though there is no malice in her voice. She is ordinarily a very serious and determined young woman, but something about Lexa brings out a softer side in her. 

 

“It is not just your footing that needs work,” Lexa continues to lecture, ignoring Clarke’s playful retort as she offers her opposite a hand to assist her back to her feet. “Sometimes, you fight like a child.”

 

Clarke is a far cry from a child, though, something that Lexa has only recently begun to take notice of. It seems that she matures more and more every day. The Natblida is undoubtedly attracted to the blonde, though that is something that she would never admit to aloud. Costia has already expressed her distaste for the amount of time Lexa spends with Clarke. It is a touchy subject when it comes to their relationship, but Lexa cannot seem to stay away.

 

“You’re just angry because you’re scared that I’m going to become better at fighting than you,” Clarke says as she accepts her friend’s hand and rises to her feet. The grip they have on one another lasts for far longer than is necessary, but neither Clarke nor Lexa seems to mind. 

 

“You are funny, I will give you that,” Lexa scoffs, jerking her chin forward to signal for Clarke to take a step back and get in position for another round. Just as Clarke is obeying, there is a knock at the door of Lexa’s chambers. 

 

“Probably your girlfriend,” Clarke suggests quietly, her tone somber. She leans her sparring pole against the stone wall and moves to the foot of Lexa’s bed to retrieve her jacket. “That’s my cue to leave.”

 

“You don’t have to,” Lexa says, though her words are not entirely true. If it is in fact Costia at her door, Clarke will not be a welcome presence. 

 

Clarke scoffs at that. “That’s not true, and you know it,” she says, threading her arms through her sleeves. “Costia doesn’t like me. She pretends to for my sake when I’m around, but I know how she really feels,” Clarke continues. “She sees me as a threat.”

 

If Lexa was going to respond to that, she does not get the chance to. Even though she has not invited the guest in, her door is opened. Costia is not standing on the other side as she had expected, though, rather it is a guard, the man soaked in black blood and appearing frantic.

 

“I am sorry to disturb you, Natblida,” the man states apologetically, though his words are rushed as his gaze darts towards Clarke. “I am here for you. The Commander was attacked by Azgeda spies in the capital. An assassination attempt. Your mother is doing everything that she can to keep him alive, but she has requested your help,” he explains. “Please… come quickly.”

 

Slightly confused and panicked, Clarke shares a final look with Lexa before following the guard out of her chambers. She has been inside of the Commander’s chambers on countless occasions while working, but never have they looked as bleak as they do when Clarke crosses over the threshold at the guard’s heels. Clarke has never seen so much blood. 

 

“Clarke, I need you to put pressure on this wound,” Abby instructs her daughter immediately. Clarke has hardly heard her mother, though, the girl almost in a trance as she takes in her familiar surroundings. Everything is disheveled as a result of the Commander being rushed to his bed. The furniture is just slightly out of place, the smooth stone floor covered with black blood that is also soaking through the ordinarily white furs on the mattress. 

 

“What did they do to him?” Clarke questions frantically as she approaches the bed. Her mother does not have time to answer her, though, wordlessly tossing a balled up cloth at the blonde, implying that she should use it to put pressure on the most prominent of the man’s injuries. It appears that he had been struck with several arrows, one of which, Clarke notes, is dangerously close to his heart.

 

Everything around her is happening so quickly that Clarke does not have the time to process it. It takes a moment for reality to set in when she recognizes that the Commander is no longer breathing. The man who Clarke has served and looked up to since she was eight years old is gone, the life in his open eyes absent. “Mom…” she breathes out, taking a step back with the bloody cloth still clutched in her hands.

 

The Flamekeeper is the first to approach the Commander’s bed, using gentle fingertips to close the man’s eyes one final time. “Clear the room,” Titus demands, wishing for his role in passing on the Commander’s spirit to be private. “Let the people know that their Commander is dead. A new Commander will rise at tomorrow’s Conclave,” he announces, his words directed at the guards who served the Commander. 

 

Clarke feels numb as she is ushered from the room by the guards alongside her mother. She had known that once the Commander died, Lexa would be fighting for her life in the Conclave. However, she had not anticipated that that day would come so soon. She could easily lose Lexa tomorrow, and life in the capital, life in general, would be unbearable without her.


	7. Chapter Seven

Lexa is terrified. She has been training for this moment since she was a mere child, but the Conclave always seemed so distant into the future that the harshness of it never truly struck the Natblida until the moment she was informed of the Commander’s death. The news hits Lexa like a physical blow, knocking the breath out of her and rendering her speechless. If she dies, what will happen to Clarke? To Costia? Will they survive under the reign of a new Commander? What if Mattox, the only Azgeda novitiate, wins the Conclave? He is strong, capable of defeating Lexa. Clarke and Costia would never survive with an Ice Nation Commander. This is what Titus had been warning her about from the day she stepped foot onto the training grounds; love is weakness. If she had not grown to care for Costia, or for Clarke, her death would effect no one other than herself. Perhaps she should have listened to the Flamekeeper’s advice.

 

Lexa does not sleep that night, does not touch the dinner that her handmaidens deliver to her chambers. She remains seated on the edge of her bed, staring out of her open balcony with silent tears running down her cheeks. When morning comes, she feels numb with the knowledge that in just a few short hours, she will either lose her life, or take the lives of those she was raised beside. 

 

Clarke and Costia are both among the handmaidens who dress her in her armor for the Conclave. None of them speak a word to each other as they dress Lexa, braiding her hair in intricate patterns and applying her warpaint. The entire room is blanketed in somberness, and Lexa finds her eyes meeting Clarke’s on several occasions, but she averts her gaze before they can communicate anything silently between each other. She does not miss the fact that blue eyes are glazed over with tears, however. 

 

Once Lexa is ready for the fight, her handmaidens begin to file out of her chambers. Costia and Clarke are the last to remain, both of them refusing to leave the room without some sort of goodbye. They are not allowed to watch the Conclave, so this could potentially be the last time that they see Lexa.

 

“You should go,” the brunette encourages them, trying but failing to keep her voice from wavering. She refuses to meet either of their gazes, instead busying herself with putting out the flames in the many candles lit around her chambers. 

 

“I love you,” Costia whispers, her hand closing over Lexa’s. Ideally, Clarke would not be present for this particular goodbye, but Costia knows that the blonde has just as much of a right to stay behind as she does. The weight of the situation is too much for her to bear, though, and with a heavy stream of tears running down her cheeks, Costia exits the room upon releasing Lexa’s hand.

 

Clarke and Lexa are left alone in the room, staring at one another without speaking a word. The Natblida opens her mouth in preparation of urging Clarke to leave as well, but the blonde silences her by pulling her into an embrace. It is so tight that Lexa can hardly breathe, but she cannot recall the last time that she was held, and she melts into her opposite’s body.

 

“You’ve got this,” Clarke whispers, her chin nuzzling against Lexa’s shoulder as her fingers clutch at the leather of the woman’s armor. “I’ve seen you fight. You’re gonna win. I know you are.”

 

“I’m not sure, Clarke,” Lexa admits, her voice sounding small and pathetic to her own ears. Tears have since begun to slip down her cheeks, causing streaks of warpaint to leak from where it was originally applied. “Luna has improved a lot. She is stronger than I am… Mattox, he could kill me without even picking up a sword. And if he wins, you will not be safe in Polis any longer. Neither will Costia, and I will not be here to protect you.”

 

“Shh,” Clarke pleads, not wishing to think about the possibility of Lexa dying today. The young woman is strong and a capable fighter, and Clarke truly believes that none of the other novitiates stand a chance against her. “The Commander’s spirit will choose you, Lexa,” Clarke assures the woman as she pulls back from the embrace, her hands lingering on Lexa’s back for perhaps too long. “This isn’t goodbye.”

 

“This isn’t goodbye,” Lexa repeats the words, not fully believing them. However, she needs to leave and she doesn’t want what could very possibly be her last conversation with Clarke to leave a bitter taste in the other woman’s mouth. 

\-------------------------------------------------------

Lexa survives the first two rounds, but in the third, she is matched against none other than Mattox kom Azgeda. Both of the novitiates are beaten, bruised, and bloody, by this point, but more determined than ever. Whoever wins this match will face Luna in the final round, and Luna is weaker than Lexa has ever seen her. She had been matched against her brother in the previous round and lost it when she decapitated him with her sword. She will be an easy opponent now. 

 

“Do not bring shame to your clan, boy!” Queen Nia warns Mattox from where she stands on the sidelines with the leaders of the other 11 clans. 

 

Mattox is several years older than Lexa is, and he towers over her by nearly a foot. He is strong, but he was injured in the previous round, giving him less capability with his dominant arm. If Lexa can play against this weakness, she can win the round, and perhaps the entire Conclave. She is armed with two swords when the horn is blown, signaling the start of the match. 

 

Mattox lunges at Lexa with his own weapon, the blade of which is already soaked in black blood before it slices open her side. The pain is intense, but Lexa has suffered so many injuries during the past few hours that it just blends in. She is weakened, yes, but not willing to die when she has so much to live for. She thinks of Costia’s teary-eyed “I love you” and Clarke’s determined “this isn’t goodbye”. She won’t let it be.

 

With all of her remaining strength, Lexa fights back. Mattox’s blade hits hard against her own, but she maintains her grip on both weapons. He has the upper hand at first, but his desire to bring pride to Azgeda is not as strong as Lexa’s need to see Clarke and Costia again. 

 

Love is /not/ weakness, she tells herself as she strikes Mattox’s bicep, hitting him precisely where he was injured previously. It is enough to cause him to lose his grip on his own sword, enough to distract him momentarily from the much smaller girl standing opposite of him. 

 

“Mattox, pay attention!” Queen Nia’s shrill voice demands, but she is too late. One of Lexa’s blades has plunged into the man’s chest, cutting clean through him. Black blood spills from both the entrance and exit wounds as Lexa retracts her sword with a gasp, genuinely shocked by her own victory. 

 

The horn blows a second time as Mattox crumples into the dirt and takes his final breath. Lexa is victorious, and Luna is nowhere to be found.


End file.
